The Neighbor's Secret(38)

“You got off easy.”

They had grounded Laurel for only two weeks. Annie wasn’t sure how effective it would be—Laurel still seemed disinclined to reflect on why she was being punished.

“Is it because I work at school?” Annie asked. She lifted Laurel’s feet and scooted underneath them.

“Sure.”

“Really?”

Annie had had the thought just this morning: how stifling to be almost fourteen and have your mother always down the hall—at school, at home.

“No, not really,” Laurel said. She propped up on her elbows. “We were all drinking because we’re teenagers. There’s not some mysterious reason.”

“Okay, but—”

“And you don’t need to punish me. My body punished me enough. My headache is like, just now gone. Do you think you’re making such a big deal about this because you’re the school counselor?”

“What you did is dangerous, Laurel.”

“You don’t need to make some example out of me. Everyone’s done something like this.” Laurel’s lips twisted as though she was trying to squelch a smile. “People thought it was hilarious.”

“Anyone who found it funny isn’t your real friend,” Annie said. A pinched quality had crept into her voice.

Laurel’s sigh—indicating Annie was the one who’d never get it—made Annie want to grab her by the shoulders and shake comprehension into her.

“You have no idea how dangerous alcohol can be,” Annie said. “There are people who don’t have an off switch, do you understand?”

Laurel bent over to tap the pad of her index finger against her big toenail, check its dryness.

The dark shiver Annie had felt when Laurel was a watchful toddler, the slight wedge between them had been this. On some subconscious level, Annie had been bracing for the time bomb in Laurel’s DNA.

“Look me in the eye, Laurel. Like that”—Annie snapped her fingers—“what starts as fun becomes a lifelong struggle. I’ve seen drunken mistakes literally ruin lives.”

Laurel kept silent, but from the way she held Annie’s gaze, Annie suspected she’d finally gotten through.

“Like your friend?” Laurel said. Her eyes moved from Annie’s to the wall behind them, filled with framed family pictures. “The guy you went to prom with? Bryce?”

“Yes.”

Annie tried to hide how his name sliced through her, left behind a dull ache.

If she ever found herself trying to rationalize Laurel’s performance at Fall Fest, all Annie had to do was think of Bryce Neary.


FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER

It occurred to Annie, as she spied on the Meekers’ party from behind a cistena plum, that this could all go horribly wrong.

For starters, was he even here?

The lawn was a sea of indistinguishable middle-aged guests: men in pastel linen button-downs and women with expensive pashminas draped around their shoulders.

And, if he was here and she managed to find him, the band was so loud. Was she supposed to shout the news in his ear, over that weighted bass line?

Surprise! You’re going to be a father!

In the plum bush, branches tickling her arm, Annie considered for the first time that just because she could see the future laid out in front of them did not mean he would.

He liked late nights more than early mornings. He prized spontaneity. They’d been talking about taking a real trip together—somewhere requiring immunizations and a visa—and so much for that.

Most people Annie’s age wouldn’t be excited about an unplanned pregnancy. There was something wrong with her, and why was she just realizing that now? She had driven all the way out here on a whim.

But it had seemed like fate, the way Annie had been half watching a daytime talk show about vision boards and seen the post on Bryce’s MySpace page: a party, tonight. The more the merrier!

At the Meekers’ of all places.

They had plans for the next day, and she’d been planning to wait until then to tell him, but screw it, she’d decided, she would drive to the party, tell him tonight.

You’re insane, Mike grumbled over the phone, that’s way out in the boondocks. Still, he had promised to try and make it after work, so that Annie wouldn’t have to “go it alone.”

Annie felt painfully, deliciously exposed at the phrase: she would never ever have to go it alone again.

It was horribly cheesy, but now, in the bushes, Annie closed her eyes and visualized it, just like the daytime television show had instructed.

He was here somewhere—or he would be soon—and he’d find her and they would sit in that gorgeous garden, on a stone bench. She would fish out of her pocket the flimsy ultrasound print and she would watch him looking at it, and they would be together, encircled in joy.

Annie opened her eyes, reached into her jean jacket pocket, pulled out her phone.

There was an uncrowded spot near the house, far from the liveliness of the dance floor.

If u r here, she texted, I’m waiting by the house.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN



“A neighborhood book club,” Rachel repeated. “Well, why not?”

“That’s what I think,” Lena said. She opened the oven and peeked under the foil. The turkey legs were still pale.